Running Rat Races
by elphabah
Summary: Mattcentered. He's been called many things. Mello's lacky. A follower. But few of what is said can be regarded as true.


**Running Rat Races  
**_by Elphabah_

Matt is in the middle of playing Resident Evil when Mello walks in front of the screen. In a blink of an eye, a zombie leaps from the shadows and devours the character. Just as he is caught off guard by Mello's sudden urge to sabotage his game, he is mild shocked by the mortality of the animated character and inability to press 'pause' in time. The slow marque of words march across the t.v. set: GAME OVER.

With an exasperated sigh he sets down the controller still hot from use and levels his gaze with the volitale blond. He takes a swig from a large bottle of sodapop, caffiene pulsing in his veins and doesn't say anything as Mello switches the television to regular cable.

A news anchor wearing too much make-up is reporting the day's casualties from Kira. It used to be, Matt notes, that they would always start the evening news with various catastrophes ranging from hurricanes to bank shoot outs but tonight it was all about Kira. Every night, it's the same routine only different names and faces of people who probably deserved to die anyways.

Matt watches, bored. Mello watches, tranfixed.

He never tells Mello how he feels about the Kira crisis and Mello never asks. It doesn't matter anyways and for sake of harmony it is never brought up. They have a mutual understanding not to bother with their personal motives.

After fifteen minutes, Matt gets up and stretches with a yawn. Several hours of playing videogames has made his vision blurry around the edges. The colors of their tiny apartment melt until Mello's all black attire is the same as the deep violet of the sofa, the ash-red carpet.

They have been stuck inside their home under self-initiated house arrest but now the food is starting to dwindle and once Mello's supply of chocolate runs low, he gets cranky and even Matt can't be indifferent to _that_.

Wordlessly, Mello turns off the television. Matt is sliding into his jacket when he reaches for the car keys. Mello beats him to it. "I'm driving," he declares, reading Matt's thoughts. Trudging along, Matt follows him out the door.

Living with a control-freak could be too much for some but Matt doesn't mind because he has always been what others deemed "a follower". A neat, tidy little label slapped onto his character, categorizing his motives with a few short words. _The irony is this: it's the sheep that are trying to pidgeon-hole me. The very ones that live inside the figuritive box are the same ones pointing a finger at me. Oh, it's so fucking hilarious. _

_Hilarious. With a capital H. _

Matt is sitting in the passenger side of the car as tires scream against the asphalt. Mello has the radio blaring, but both their eardrums are shot anyways.

In their days at the orphanage, he had never stood a chance at being #1 in the private competitions among the students. It had always been Near and Mello, fighting for who could be the best in everything while Matt sat on the sidelines, doing his own thing.

_"There isn't a prize in merely being the best in something; you got to have a good reason to try." _The words echoed in his head, taking him down the trails of past encounters.

_He is sitting inside Rodger's office, welding goggles firmly planted over his eyes. Unlike the other adults at Wammy's, Rodger is known only as Rodger. No "Mr. Rodger", which Matt assumes is to avoid confusion with _the_ Mr. Rodgers. Save bad tastes in pull-over vests, there is little in common with this Rodger and the jolly Mr. Rodgers of PBS glory. Matt stares at the aging man with a blank expression, arms folded across his chest. The door is closed but outside in the halls he can hear children screeching with the laughter of play. At the time, Matt is nine but he has the vocabulary of a jaded seventeen-year-old. When Rodger asks him about menial things, his answers are drowning in muted sarcasm. _

_Rodger finds the red-haired boy frustratingly ambigious. In a way that neither Near or Mello achieved, Matt possesses way of answering his questions without saying much of anything at all. Near is always clipped, precisely accurate in his replies. Mello will say too much, telling Rodger more then he needs to hear. But Matt is different. He is purposely closed. _

_"I want to discuss with you about your recent assessment exam," Rodger eventually says when all chances of casual conversation fail._

_Matt replies, "I took them. What's there to talk about?"_

_"Your scores," Rodger answers. He retrieves a manilla folder labeled 'Matt' from within his desk and opens it up. "As you know, here at Wammy's we pride ourselves at mustering a competitive spirit in the name of academia."_

_"You mean a rat race," Matt answers. _

_"Pardon me, young man?" _

_Matt unfolds his arms and dangles them from the large chair he is sitting in. He doesn't answer immediately, debating whether his thoughts are worth verbalizing. Eventually he says, "You said 'competitive spirit' but I am pretty sure you meant 'rat race'. Competitive spirit is playing a game of baseball among the kids. Competing to be the best for nothing other than to be the best is a rat race." _

_While Rodger peers at him with a keen interest, Matt continues: "There isn't a prize in merely being the best in something; you got to have a good reason to try. So if your asking me to improve my scores on that stupid assessment exam, forget it. That's the best I am going to do for something I don't have a good reason to care about."_

_Matt slips awkwardly out of the chair and walks away with disinterest. He doesn't slam the door as Mello would have done, nor does he twirl a strand of hair between his fingertips as Near is prone to do. He merely walks away unsatisfied with the conversation._

_Rodger sighs as the wasted potential leaves his sight. Opening the file to stare at the graded exam, he looks at the perfect score. _

_Matt had scored 2 points higher than Mello and Near. _


End file.
